Wind whips against the walls of the helicarrier. The doors are closing though, and soon they will safe, for now. Peter slumps down in a corner, away from the prying eyes of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Half of his mask is torn off, and though most of them have already seen his face, he doesn't want them to see how scared he was and how broken he's becoming. He has a gash running down his cheek. He touches it again. The blood is crusting. He hopes it won't scar.

Director Fury stands at the center of the carrier, barking out orders. His arm is broken, stuck in a temporary tourniquet. Commander Hill stands by his side, looking over his other wounds, until Fury barks her away, back to her station. He'll be fine. He always says that. Peter wonders if it's ever true.

Peter has served five years under Fury. He started when he was fifteen, a sophomore in high school, now he's almost twenty and would be halfway through college if he hadn't quit last semester. It had become too expensive a front. He wasn't going to classes, because he couldn't concentrate on lectures with his world falling to pieces around him, and without a grade scholarship he couldn't afford the ever-rising cost of college.

He's utterly exhausted. He feels like years and years of his life have been stripped away working as Spider-man. And he's lonely. His friends have all gone on to their own careers. MJ is studying journalism in California. She shoots him an email every other day, but it's not the same as having her there. And Harry, Harry moved to Europe. Away from the clutter of his old life, the memories of his father. He's an artist. He paints dark abstract. It speaks for his generation. The last time Peter heard from him was four months ago. He was doing okay. There's still Flash, Peter's bully turned friend turned fellow superhero, Agent Venom. They talk sometimes, have lunch together occasionally. But Flash is married now, to a former classmate of theirs. It was one of those the-world-is-a-mess-let's-marry-before-it-gets-messier kind of deals. Everyone is doing those now, and Thomas wanted to make sure he could visit when Flash winds up half dead in a hospital.

Pain has been inevitable since the Dark Dimension opened and Strange disappeared. Creatures from the other side have come through and taken human form, either duplicating or controlling their victims. No one can be trusted. There could be a demon on the helicarrier right now, though Peter's spidey-sense isn't going off. Spidey-sense – what a childish word, but he was a child when he invented it. He wonders that Fury had let him fight at all, but then Fury doesn't care about people, only results. At least he is fair about it. He doesn't let people care about him either.

Peter stretches. His back aches. A possessed Iron Man suit threw him multiple times against the side of a building today. At least he saved a group of kindergarteners, for the most part. He thinks about how strange it is that civilians just keep going on like normal in this apocalypse. People act like nothing had happened. They still go to school, get jobs, have babies. Well, there have been supervillians for decades now, demons must not seem such a big difference, but they are. Even the Avengers are getting worn out. Thor left to get help from Asgard, but it's been over a year, and no help's come. Maybe Thor's dead, maybe he's given up on earth, maybe Odin won't listen.

Dagger walks past Peter, limping and holding a cloth to her bleeding side. She is on almost every mission now, as her purifying powers are the one of few things that can immobilize a demon. It's killing her, especially since Cloak is on the other side, controlled by the demons' leader, Dormammu. She wants out, but she has no where to go. If she left S.H.I.E.L.D. the demons would find her alone and destroy her.

'Hi. You okay?' Peter says. But she can't hear him over the rumbling of the helicarrier. Peter hugs his knees as the carrier lurches upward into the sky.

'Hey.' It's Luke. He sits down near Peter with a brown paper bag and two cardboard cups. 'I got some food, some coffee.' He wraps an arm around Peter, gives his shoulder a squeeze.

'Ow!' Peter jerks away. He hadn't noticed his shoulder was throbbing, but now it feels like he was hit with a blazing poker.

'You need to get that off,' Luke says, pointing at the costume. His face is scrunched with worry. 'We need to see the full damage.'

'Easier said that done.' Peter pulls on the sleeve of his costume, but it sticks as if it's been glued because of the sweat on his arms.

Luke reaches over and touches a tear on the costume's neck. He rips the costume down from there, baring Peter's chest. 'Don't worry, I'll pay to have it repaired.'

'Yeah, right,' Peter says, but he smiles. Lately, Luke has been the only one who can lift his mood. There's only the two of them left of their original team. Danny's dead. Sam and Ava have gone missing. Peter can't abide the thought of losing Luke too. He peels off the rest of the costume. The red and blue all tattered, slipping through his fingers. Naked, cold, and tired, he leans his head back against the metal wall. 'Luke, what are we doing?'

'Fighting.' Luke touches Peter, closely examing his body. His hands, which could break a man's arms with a quick twist, are gentle, even soothing on Peter's skin.

'But do we even have a fraction of a chance of succeeding?'

'I don't know. But that hasn't stopped you before.' Luke reaches into his first aid bag, pulls out a rag and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, and begins cleaning Peter's wounded shoulder.

Peter's winces and looks away. The hydrogen peroxide stings, but he knows Luke is helping him. 'I just feel like what we're doing is useless. We keep going after these demons, but we just end up killing people, while the demons move on and attach themselves to new bodies.'

Luke nods, as he finishes wrapping up Peter's shoulder.

'I don't like killing people,' Peter says.

'I know.'

'I didn't sign up for this.'

'None of us did.' Luke has moved up to the Peter's cheek gash, and Peter clamps his teeth together, so he doesn't scream when Luke dabs on the disinfectant.

Afterwards, Luke kisses Peter: kisses his mouth, his cheeks, his neck, his wounded shoulder, and all across his cold chest. Peter shudders. The kisses are too hot, too desperate, like all kisses now. No one bats an eye at this display of affection, no one even turns their way. Everyone is fucking now – to relieve stress, to feel alive, because tomorrow could be the last day. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter can see Captain Rogers with the Falcon in the crook of his arm. Deadpool has his head on Wolverine's lap, and Amadeus is cradling Dagger.

'I'm going to die.'

Luke holds Peter close, pulls his lank hair out of his eyes. 'Not tonight.'

'You're going to die.'

Luke shrugs, pulls away. 'How about we skip coffee and head straight to bed?'

'Okay, but we have to eat. I'm starving.' Peter opens the brown paper bag, which holds two roast beef sandwiches and a couple of pears. 'This looks good.' He picks up one of the sandwiches and bites into it. 'Tastes decent too.'

Luke takes the other sandwich. They devour the food then sit, staring at each other.

'Bed?' Luke says.

Peter holds out his arms, and Luke carries him to the back of the helicarrier, places him in their shared bed, strips, and gets under the covers himself.

'Should we shower now or in the morning?' Peter asks.

'Morning.'

Peter wriggles on the bed. 'I can't sleep. I'm too tense.'

'I can help you out there.' Luke kisses him, hot like before, but full on the mouth this time, and then again, wet and deep. He rolls on top of Peter, pinning him to the bed. Peter stares up into Luke's dark, deep-set eyes and sees the unending urgency. Peter is lost in its fever. They kiss and kiss, lips locking and relocking. Peter slides his hands up and runs them through Luke thin, black hair. Luke had shaved his head. Now it's slowly growing back.

'I love you,' Peter says. Luke pushes Peter's head down, fiercely kissing him. Peter wonders if this is Luke's way of shutting him up. He feels small, defenseless. He is strong, but Luke is stronger, unbreakable even, so they say, and so he's seen. Luke wouldn't hurt him though, not in a million years, not if he was in his right mind. But if there is a demon prowling around inside, hidden beneath the surface…but that's just paranoid. Peter shoves the thought aside. There is no danger. There is just that slight offness in his spidey-sense, but it has been there since the portal to the Dark Dimension opened.

'What wrong?' Luke says.

Peter blinks. 'Nothing. I mean I said I loved you, and you didn't say anything back, I – '

'I love you,' Luke says, and he's back to kissing Peter's neck, biting his collarbone.

'Luke.'

'What?'

'Can we talk?'

'Sure.' Luke rolls off him. The matress creaking almost covers the sound of his sigh.

'I want to know where this is going.'

'Pete, we've been together for two years – '

'Exactly. And I still don't know what we're doing.'

'We're sleeping together.'

'But why? Why are we sleeping together?'

'I don't know, man. Because it's healthy, because it feels good, and you look good, even with that cut running down your cheek.' Luke kisses the cut.

Peter pulls back. "Be serious.'

'I am. What am I suppose to say? Where this is going? I don't know. Where are things like this suppose to go? We're already living together. I thought you didn't want to get married, I thought you said it was stupid at a time like this.'

'It is stupid, but it'd give us something to look forward to. And I…I always wanted a family. I just feel disconnected somehow.'

Luke looks hard at Peter, as if he trying to read his mind through his face. 'Sometimes you are so changeable.'

'I'm sorry.' Peter pulls the blankets up to his chin, stares at the dented ceiling. He wishes he had just kept his mouth shut. He's always creating problems. Even when his life is already filled with them, he makes more.

Luke stares a moment longer than shakes his head. 'Nah, it's okay. If getting married will make you happy, that's cool with me.'

'Really?'

'Yeah, if that's what you want.'

Peter drops the blankets and stares wide-eyed at Luke. 'Wow, really. Just like that? I mean, are we engaged?'

'Do I have to get you a ring?'

'No.'

'Then yes.'

Peter nudges his elbow against Luke's arm. 'Cheapskate.'

'Hey, you were the one wanting to marry me, so you actually should be the one buying the ring. But you know, I'm fine without one. I'm easy like that.'

Peter rolls on top of Luke. 'You're always easy,' he whispers into his ear.

Luke puts his arms around Peter and gives his butt a squeeze. 'I know.'